Jackson Heights, Sherry and Phafda Jalebi
August 3rd, 2014
Its 8:30 in the evening and I am sitting in Jackson Heights, New York City. Its almost been two years in America and I feel pretty much at home. The way I got used to U.S., its motorways, rigorous traffic rules , ramps, complicated GPS systems, over-speeding tickets, central Manhattan district with its mish-mash of streets and avenues and take-away burgers, confounds me beyond imagination. There is a reason behind this. I was always a person who was observed as introvert, abstract and a bit lost. I admit that this allegation or rather a description has some grain of truth. I spent several years in Delhi but still that city appears alien to me. I don't drive in Delhi and neither I could develop strong familiarity with the routes of Delhi. I could not find the connection with the culture, lifestyle, politics and the parties of Delhi. But the connection with New York, Cornell and in general with US was immediate, spontaneous and natural. I feel that this connection goes back to my previous births. In fact I am reminded of the episode in Mahabharata, the text with which I have the most intimate connection and fascination, where Arjuna travels to Patala lok (land below the earth) with Lord Krishna. If we believe that there was any truth in that mythology that it definitely impels us to think that Arjuna went to Americas as it is right below India on the globe.
Jackson heights is the place where at one glance and in your first presence you feel that you have come to Ahmedabad or Bombay of 1990s. It is not just difficult but kind of impossible to find a white-skinned man. The weather is humid and I am taking a casual evening stroll. My evening stroll exposes me to heavy, screeching noise of the iron-wheels of city rail that runs right above my head. I am not very surprised to find traditional Indian Hindu females clad in salwaar-kameez and saree, traditional Bombay type muslims clad in kurta and pyjama which ended a little above their ankles. My next sight shows me young muslim girls coming out of their homes to end their Rozas(fasting in Ramadaan). They are wearing very bright and colorful (red and violet colors)salwaar-kameez and they have thick red lipstick and make-up. Some of them have beautiful patterns of henna on their palms and reaching their elbows. They seem very happy , though a bit tired after a day of fasting. This quest of preserving their cultural and religious identity is sometimes disturbed by their curiosity to know about others boy-friends and the first experience of kissing. However, this curiosity is expressed with a little fear, unusual body-language and whispers.
But, Jackson heights is not just Ahmedabad or Mumbai. When I was watching the cheerful smile and pretty eyes of those traditional muslim girls, Jackson heights beautifully blends into Cancun, Mexico city or Canton. The blending was so subtle, so discreet and so elusive that I completely escaped it. The next encounter is of a loud, happening Mexican night club which was playing raunchy salsa music. I can see some young bearded lads smoking hashish and a stunningly pretty Mexican girl in a very short outfit trying to lure customers with her erotic and innocent gestures. I enter the club and I see guys high on cannabis or cocaine into an intense embrace with latino girls.
My next sight is a group of Chinese females playing poker after dinner as if it was Beijing. After a few blocks I see a group of Indian musicians playing Sikh bhajans and then a band of Bengali musicians. The whole sight reminds me of Canton city of 19th century when it had colonies of traders from across the world. Amitav Ghosh beautifully portrays the Canton of 19th century with its Parsi, Gujarati Armenian, Egyptian and English merchants. Jackson heights is truly a cosmopolitan, postmodern, diverse and a multicultural city. I am absolutely amazed at the capacity of United States to accommodate such diversity, contradiction and speed.
I begin my evening with fafda jalebi. Being a half gujarati, I have a special regard for fafda jalebi and Jethalaal in Tarak mehta ka ulta chashma ( a tv serial on sab tv) has revealed the divinity of fafda jalebi to me. There is something more this fafda jalebi. It is not just a stroke to quench your senses. Today it has become a strong symbol of Indo-US relations because of the strong presence of Gujaratis in the motel world of US. In fact there are myths like the entire chain of 7/11 is owned by a Gujju merchant. I have heard Americans soeaimg volumes about the wealth of Gujjus in US.
I am meeting Sherry at Dera. Dera is a Pakistani restaurant famous for its Nahari, biriyanis and paya shorba. Whenever it comes to good biriyani in a foreign land I always prefer to contribute to the GDP of Pakistan rather than India because no one can beat Lahoris in the world of biriyanis and Karhai. Sherry is a Chinese girl who has two pretty and small Chinese eyes and a sharp intellect. She is my junior in Cornell University and at present She is interning with Consulate General of India. She is trying to know South Asia and its confused mesh of politics, culture, religion, feudalism, diplomacy and little bit of economics growth. If she finds some space in her mind after this transcendental and slow journey of South Asia she tries to explore New York City. Like most of the Chinese students she is good in econometrics and accounting. She likes hotpot(Chinese cuisine), misses Beijing and its poker evenings. Today she is here with her mom who speaks in Chinese so I am trying to communicate with my hand gestures explaining what goat curry is and how it can be eaten in the absence of noodles. I have strong feeling that most of the Indian diplomats are also communicating with the sign language with their Chinese counterparts. On a casual note, Indian diplomats are really good at using sign language as it is the most effective weapon to create confusion and underlying philosophy of Indian diplomacy is the classic art of linguistic confusion which it derives from its ancient philosophical doctrines like 'syadvaad' (theory of manyness of reality) and kashnikvada(Buddhist doctrine of momentariness).
We are having a lavish dinner of goat karhai, nahari, surkh sheesh kabaab, paya shorba and mutton-do-pyaza, which is followed by imarati, gulab jamuns, kalakand and rasmalai. After a gap of about two years, I am relishing these Mughal delicacies. In Delhi, I was a regular visitor of Karim's which offers excellent Mughal delicacies. I feel that Indian government should launch postcards in the memory of Mughal bawarchis (Chefs) as today the cuisines invented by them, form a major part of India's soft power.foreign ministry.
While we are having dinner, I see a lean and lanky Indian gentleman sitting besides us. He is thin to the extent of looking malnourished. Sherry is keenly observing him with serene Buddha smile like perfect Chinese diplomat. I ask her the reason for that kind of concentration. She shows me something which is very peculiar. I see that the emaciated gentleman ordered karhai chicken, karhai goat, palak paneer, parathas dripping with clarified butter, naan, kadhi pakora and half a kg of sweets. I am not very surprised because I am used to my young, thin and 'sanskari' (cultured in a hypocritical sense)cousins eating like 40 chapatis in my village feasts. But Sherry finds it amusing, surprising and also disturbing. She is concerned with the fact that where is all this food going and how is India feeding its people if each individual is capable of making such a legendary contribution. Immediately she makes a conclusion: "India is slow in its growth rate and work efficiency because you guys eat so much, after which you can't work, you sleep and also invite heart attacks, diabetes and other ailments." I don't refute her analysis as even I feel like agreeing with what she discovers. Well I wish that this innocent Chinese observation does not reach their foreign ministry, otherwise the Chinese government will definately use this information for some kind of strategic planning.
I decide to call it a night as I have to get ready for tomorrow's meeting with Mr. Vijay Nambiar who is the special advisor to Secretary general of United Nations on Myanmar Affairs.
August 3rd, 2014
Its 8:30 in the evening and I am sitting in Jackson Heights, New York City. Its almost been two years in America and I feel pretty much at home. The way I got used to U.S., its motorways, rigorous traffic rules , ramps, complicated GPS systems, over-speeding tickets, central Manhattan district with its mish-mash of streets and avenues and take-away burgers, confounds me beyond imagination. There is a reason behind this. I was always a person who was observed as introvert, abstract and a bit lost. I admit that this allegation or rather a description has some grain of truth. I spent several years in Delhi but still that city appears alien to me. I don't drive in Delhi and neither I could develop strong familiarity with the routes of Delhi. I could not find the connection with the culture, lifestyle, politics and the parties of Delhi. But the connection with New York, Cornell and in general with US was immediate, spontaneous and natural. I feel that this connection goes back to my previous births. In fact I am reminded of the episode in Mahabharata, the text with which I have the most intimate connection and fascination, where Arjuna travels to Patala lok (land below the earth) with Lord Krishna. If we believe that there was any truth in that mythology that it definitely impels us to think that Arjuna went to Americas as it is right below India on the globe.
Jackson heights is the place where at one glance and in your first presence you feel that you have come to Ahmedabad or Bombay of 1990s. It is not just difficult but kind of impossible to find a white-skinned man. The weather is humid and I am taking a casual evening stroll. My evening stroll exposes me to heavy, screeching noise of the iron-wheels of city rail that runs right above my head. I am not very surprised to find traditional Indian Hindu females clad in salwaar-kameez and saree, traditional Bombay type muslims clad in kurta and pyjama which ended a little above their ankles. My next sight shows me young muslim girls coming out of their homes to end their Rozas(fasting in Ramadaan). They are wearing very bright and colorful (red and violet colors)salwaar-kameez and they have thick red lipstick and make-up. Some of them have beautiful patterns of henna on their palms and reaching their elbows. They seem very happy , though a bit tired after a day of fasting. This quest of preserving their cultural and religious identity is sometimes disturbed by their curiosity to know about others boy-friends and the first experience of kissing. However, this curiosity is expressed with a little fear, unusual body-language and whispers.
But, Jackson heights is not just Ahmedabad or Mumbai. When I was watching the cheerful smile and pretty eyes of those traditional muslim girls, Jackson heights beautifully blends into Cancun, Mexico city or Canton. The blending was so subtle, so discreet and so elusive that I completely escaped it. The next encounter is of a loud, happening Mexican night club which was playing raunchy salsa music. I can see some young bearded lads smoking hashish and a stunningly pretty Mexican girl in a very short outfit trying to lure customers with her erotic and innocent gestures. I enter the club and I see guys high on cannabis or cocaine into an intense embrace with latino girls.
My next sight is a group of Chinese females playing poker after dinner as if it was Beijing. After a few blocks I see a group of Indian musicians playing Sikh bhajans and then a band of Bengali musicians. The whole sight reminds me of Canton city of 19th century when it had colonies of traders from across the world. Amitav Ghosh beautifully portrays the Canton of 19th century with its Parsi, Gujarati Armenian, Egyptian and English merchants. Jackson heights is truly a cosmopolitan, postmodern, diverse and a multicultural city. I am absolutely amazed at the capacity of United States to accommodate such diversity, contradiction and speed.
I begin my evening with fafda jalebi. Being a half gujarati, I have a special regard for fafda jalebi and Jethalaal in Tarak mehta ka ulta chashma ( a tv serial on sab tv) has revealed the divinity of fafda jalebi to me. There is something more this fafda jalebi. It is not just a stroke to quench your senses. Today it has become a strong symbol of Indo-US relations because of the strong presence of Gujaratis in the motel world of US. In fact there are myths like the entire chain of 7/11 is owned by a Gujju merchant. I have heard Americans soeaimg volumes about the wealth of Gujjus in US.
I am meeting Sherry at Dera. Dera is a Pakistani restaurant famous for its Nahari, biriyanis and paya shorba. Whenever it comes to good biriyani in a foreign land I always prefer to contribute to the GDP of Pakistan rather than India because no one can beat Lahoris in the world of biriyanis and Karhai. Sherry is a Chinese girl who has two pretty and small Chinese eyes and a sharp intellect. She is my junior in Cornell University and at present She is interning with Consulate General of India. She is trying to know South Asia and its confused mesh of politics, culture, religion, feudalism, diplomacy and little bit of economics growth. If she finds some space in her mind after this transcendental and slow journey of South Asia she tries to explore New York City. Like most of the Chinese students she is good in econometrics and accounting. She likes hotpot(Chinese cuisine), misses Beijing and its poker evenings. Today she is here with her mom who speaks in Chinese so I am trying to communicate with my hand gestures explaining what goat curry is and how it can be eaten in the absence of noodles. I have strong feeling that most of the Indian diplomats are also communicating with the sign language with their Chinese counterparts. On a casual note, Indian diplomats are really good at using sign language as it is the most effective weapon to create confusion and underlying philosophy of Indian diplomacy is the classic art of linguistic confusion which it derives from its ancient philosophical doctrines like 'syadvaad' (theory of manyness of reality) and kashnikvada(Buddhist doctrine of momentariness).
We are having a lavish dinner of goat karhai, nahari, surkh sheesh kabaab, paya shorba and mutton-do-pyaza, which is followed by imarati, gulab jamuns, kalakand and rasmalai. After a gap of about two years, I am relishing these Mughal delicacies. In Delhi, I was a regular visitor of Karim's which offers excellent Mughal delicacies. I feel that Indian government should launch postcards in the memory of Mughal bawarchis (Chefs) as today the cuisines invented by them, form a major part of India's soft power.foreign ministry.
While we are having dinner, I see a lean and lanky Indian gentleman sitting besides us. He is thin to the extent of looking malnourished. Sherry is keenly observing him with serene Buddha smile like perfect Chinese diplomat. I ask her the reason for that kind of concentration. She shows me something which is very peculiar. I see that the emaciated gentleman ordered karhai chicken, karhai goat, palak paneer, parathas dripping with clarified butter, naan, kadhi pakora and half a kg of sweets. I am not very surprised because I am used to my young, thin and 'sanskari' (cultured in a hypocritical sense)cousins eating like 40 chapatis in my village feasts. But Sherry finds it amusing, surprising and also disturbing. She is concerned with the fact that where is all this food going and how is India feeding its people if each individual is capable of making such a legendary contribution. Immediately she makes a conclusion: "India is slow in its growth rate and work efficiency because you guys eat so much, after which you can't work, you sleep and also invite heart attacks, diabetes and other ailments." I don't refute her analysis as even I feel like agreeing with what she discovers. Well I wish that this innocent Chinese observation does not reach their foreign ministry, otherwise the Chinese government will definately use this information for some kind of strategic planning.
I decide to call it a night as I have to get ready for tomorrow's meeting with Mr. Vijay Nambiar who is the special advisor to Secretary general of United Nations on Myanmar Affairs.
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